Catch and Release
by EmyPink
Summary: It’s two days, five hours, and three minutes before he gets the call. An AU take on the end of ‘Aliyah’ and the beginning of season seven. Character death. Written for the NFA The Death of . . . Challenge.


**Catch and Release **

By EmyPink

_Written for the NFA The Death of . . . Challenge _

**Disclaimer:** All names and trademarks recognised as "NCIS" do not belong to me; I've just borrowed the characters for my own purpose.

**Rating:** T

**Parings:** Minor Tiva

**Characters:** Team et al, Eli David

**Genres:** Tragedy, Angst, AU!

**Warnings:** Character death; spoilers for season six's 'Aliyah'

**Word Count:** c.2,100 words

**Summary: **It's two days, five hours, and three minutes before he gets the call. An AU take on the end of 'Aliyah' and the beginning of season seven. _Written for the NFA The Death of . . .__ Challenge._

---

They find her body.

---

Two tourists are walking along a path aged by the soles of weary travellers. The young woman makes a comment, points to something in the distance. Her companion smiles, and looks at his girlfriend fondly.

He's going to propose tonight.

They walk a little further, laughing and talking in the gentle breeze. She sees something again, and he quietly rolls his eyes. It's the first time she's ever been out of England, and he wonders why the hell she picked Somalia of all places.

It's not exactly safe.

Then she screams and he expects to be attacked by pirates or whatever those documentaries on telly warn him about. But then he follows her shaking finger and stops. He blinks twice. He must have been in the sun too long, that's it. But he knows it's real, and he feels ill.

Never mind pirates, no one ever said anything about bodies.

But he manages to compose himself enough to alert the authorities. They arrive, lights blazing, and mutter to each other in a foreign language. They glance at the body, silent, but then they start muttering again.

It's as though they don't even care.

An officer offers them a lift back to the nearest town, and when they get there, they are dumped on the doorstep of the hostel they've been staying in. The officer asks them a few questions, but then zooms away, leaving a trail of dust and a traumatised couple behind. They pack up and leave, on the first flight they can catch.

They never go back.

---

Eli David gets a call.

---

He's sitting at his desk, flicking through some papers. His phone rings. Casually, he picks it up, mutters a 'Shalom' and listens. The person on the other end is frenzied, confused. He doesn't know what happened, Eli is told. He doesn't have any information, only . . . Eli listens with an impassive face.

They tell him.

Eli nods, mutters a 'Toda' and places the receiver back where it belongs. He stares at it, at the smooth, curvy contours. He rubs his forehead and glances across his desk. A single photo sits there: children. They stare back at him, eyes bright and grins wide.

His face shows no emotion.

He reaches for the photo, and for a moment, his fingers linger over the three young figures. He traces them, once, and when they stare back at him, he can't take it anymore. He flips the photo, laying it face down on his desk. It hides their accusing eyes, and it remains there for as long as he is director.

Eli David never turns it over again.

---

It's two days, five hours, and three minutes before he gets the call.

---

He's bleary eyed as his phone rings early one morning. He fumbles with it, and curses whoever the hell is calling him at this ungodly hour. He flips it, brings it to his ear and barks a harsh, "What?"

Someone hesitates on the other end.

"I don't have all day," Gibbs snaps down the phone. He's propped up on one elbow, and is facing the bedside clock.

3.23am.

It comes spilling out from the young and inexperienced Mossad officer. It's long winded, at first, and Gibbs wishes the boy would hurry the hell up. It's early morning and he has to get up in a few hours; they still haven't picked a replacement and it is making everyone crabby.

Then he stops.

Gibbs asks the man to repeat what he just said. He does, and it takes everything Gibbs has ever learnt not to drop the phone. He bolts upright when the Mossad officer finishes repeating what he'd just said. He stares at the wall in front of him; he thinks he's in shock, but he's not sure. He's not sure of anything right now. He thanks the man, muted, and hangs up before the officer can reply.

The phone clatters from his hand.

He looks down at the fallen phone, glowing in the darkness of his room. He's clenching the sheets, making his knuckles turn white, and he doesn't even notice. Gibbs swings his legs from the bed, landing on the floor with a thump. It takes him a moment to realise where he is, but then he stands.

There's no way he's going back to sleep.

He pads out of his bedroom, and navigates the hallway in the dark. He stumbles, momentarily, and he knows it's not because he tripped. Gibbs reaches the door, yanks on the handle and descends the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, looking at the empty space. Gibbs walks forward, over to the bench.

He picks up his saw.

---

He tells them that morning.

---

He goes to the director first, but is unsurprised to find that he already knows. Vance is waiting for him, reclined in his chair, though he is anything but relaxed. He looks up, almost sadly, when Gibbs comes storming in. They stare each other down, just for a moment, then Vance gestures for him to sit. Gibbs doesn't at first, but then Vance pulls out a bottle of something and pours two generous glasses. It's not even eight in the morning, but that doesn't matter.

Vance toasts; Gibbs says nothing.

Afterwards, Gibbs wonders if it's better to divide and conquer, or tell them all together. He decides on the latter, reasoning that if they're together then they'll have someone to lean on (he ignores the fact that having to say it once is one time too many). He waits for them to arrive, and calls the others from autopsy and the lab. They assemble, and look confused.

Gibbs wishes he was anywhere but here.

So he tells them, flatly, without a sugar coating. He doesn't embellish, he doesn't waver, he just tells it as it is. And that's enough, it's so _so_ enough. He pauses when he finishes, and glances at his team. There is a moment of silent silence, of pure shock.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Abby looses it. She stumbles backwards, crashing into Gibbs' empty desk. Her eyes are wide and there are silent tears running down her face; silent sobs coming from her mouth. She sinks to the ground, shaking, and rebuffs everyone's attempt to touch her. So they let her sit there, sobbing into her hands.

After all, it's what they all want to do.

Ducky says nothing. He is the first that tries to reach Abby, but she just turns away from him. So he steps back and stands, his eyes sweeping over the cluster of NCIS employees. Ducky sighs, shakes his head and turns away, glancing out the window at the USS Barry. It stands there, solid and strong, and Ducky wishes he could feel like that. He turns back to his friends.

He murmurs a Jewish prayer she taught him last year.

Tony gets angry. His eyes flash dangerously, almost as though he doesn't believe it. He is silent, for a moment, but then hurls the first thing he picks up across the bullpen. It lands in the walkway and shatters, narrowly missing a passing agent. Tony doesn't care. He goes to pick up something else, but someone gets in his way. He looks up and glares at Gibbs as though it's his fault.

Tony storms out of the bullpen, angry tears streaming down his cheeks.

McGee cries. He's the only one sitting behind his desk and for that, he's grateful. His head is bowed and he's staring at his lap, hoping the position of his head will conceal the tears. He's not sobbing like Abby, nor wet eyed like Ducky. His tears are not angry, nor are they invisible. He's just . . . crying. Normal, average tears fall from his eyes and drop into his lap.

He wishes he could cry like the others.

Palmer is lost. He looks around as everyone shatters and breaks. The loud, heavy sobs from Abby mingle with the silence from Ducky and Gibbs, and the quiet tears from McGee. Palmer is bewildered, confused, but his heart is aching in his chest. It wasn't like this when Agent Todd died, and he wonders why. A tear runs down his face and Palmer wipes it away.

He doesn't bother with the rest.

---

When he finds them, they are broken.

---

Abby is sitting in her lab when he finds her. It's a terrible mirror image of four years ago. She's slumped against the palm of her hands, and her hair hangs limply down the sides of her neck. He walks up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He puts down the object he's carrying, a bright red Caff-Pow sits beside her.

She pushes it away.

He sighs and caresses the back of her neck. She remains motionless, but lets out a dry sob. Abby remains still for another moment before flinging back her chair, whirling around and throwing her arms around his neck. Then she is sobbing into his shoulder. He wraps one hand around her waist, and brings the other to cup the back of her head. She clings to him, like a lifeline.

"I miss her, Gibbs," she sobs, quivering in his embrace. "I miss her so much."

"I know, Abs," he murmurs back, kissing her forehead. "I miss her too."

-

The apartment is dark when he knocks on the door. It takes a moment, but then it swings open. He can see that it's dark inside as McGee steps back and lets him in. Without saying a word, McGee walks back to his computer desk and sits down heavily. The glow from the screen is the only thing that illuminates the room, but McGee doesn't seem to care.

At least he hasn't drunk himself stupid, Gibbs muses (but that's more DiNozzo's thing).

He follows McGee to his computer, and glances at the screen. It's one of those online role-playing games (he thinks), and he thinks he can make out McGee's Elf Lord prancing around the screen. And while the game seems to be running, it doesn't look as though McGee has been playing. Someone approaches the elf, but McGee doesn't seem to care; he stares at the screen blankly.

"I wonder if that's how she felt," McGee comments distantly as he watches his online avatar collapse to the ground, "when she died."

-

There is a clunk from his basement, but he doesn't bother to draw his weapon; he knows who it is. He walks down the stairs, making no effort to conceal his arrival. It's dark, and the only light comes from an old flashlight of his. As he steps off the last step, he flicks the light switch and Tony winces under the suddenly glare. He's staggering on the spot; a bottle of something cheap and nasty is clutched in his hand. He waves clumsily at Gibbs and takes another gulp of the liquid.

Gibbs doesn't fail to notice the empty bottle lying on the ground.

"Do ya want some?" Tony slurs, stagging over to Gibbs. He's wasted, totally and utterly wasted.

"No, DiNozzo, I do not want any," Gibbs snaps, snatching the bottle out of his sluggish hand.

"That's mine." Tony's words slide into one another.

"Not anymore."

"Spoilsport," Tony mutters, and crashes into the frame of the boat. He falls to the ground and pulls his knees to his chest, scrubbing his eyes with clenched fists. He looks up at Gibbs, broken and desperate. He sighs and burries his head in his knees, murmuring,

"I think I could have loved her."

---

They need to say goodbye.

---

They gather in a park, just the six of them. They're dressed in black, and look out of place with the families and couples just behind the tress. There's nothing particularly special about the park, nor the day. The sky is blue, the grass is green and time does not stop, nor do the heavens cry. They stand there in silence, unable to look at each other. Then Ducky steps forward and tells them, "I remember a time . . ."

He opens a floodgate.

The stories come tumbling out. From her first day at NCIS, to the mistakes she made with her idioms. They laugh and they cry, and for a moment they feel alive again. Stories are told, words mix with others, and soon no one knows quite what is going on. They cut each other off, fill in the gaps, finish stories before the original teller does. It's nice and it's carefree, but it's not right.

They shouldn't be telling stories like this, not yet.

They lapse into a silence again, when they have exhausted the stories. Their faces are tired, a mixture of happy and sad. They glance at each other and Abby steps forward. She's clutching something, has been the entire time. For a moment she pauses, and then she looks to the sky. She lets go and it floats to the heavens. The others follow.

Six white balloons; six messages of hope.

---

She never comes home.

---

_Fin_.


End file.
